


Half-Pint Squared

by Ivorysilk



Series: Half-Pint Neal [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivorysilk/pseuds/Ivorysilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to my earlier fic, <a href="http://ivorysilk.livejournal.com/32773.html">Half-Pint Neal</a>, which was written for the <a href="http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/"><b>whitecollarhc</b></a> comm’s feverfest; this one is being posted for the <a href="http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/"></a><b>whitecollarhc</b> community’s kidfest.  You don’t really need to read the first one to read this one if you don’t want; all you need to know is that in the first one, Neal gets sick at school and Peter brings him home.  This one picks up the next morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Pint Squared

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers, as this is pretty much AU even aside from the fact that Neal is now a child; it ignores canon backgrounds for many of the characters, particularly Neal.
> 
> As usual, I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for my own self-indulgent fun, and because, like Neal, I clearly covet other people's things.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to [](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/profile)[**rabidchild**](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hoosierbitch.livejournal.com/profile)[**hoosierbitch**](http://hoosierbitch.livejournal.com/) for reading over my earlier draft, and thanks to [](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rabidchild.livejournal.com/)**rabidchild** for running the awesome kidfest that inspired this!
> 
>  
> 
> _Comments, positive or negative, are treasured. Thanks for reading._

**********************************

Neal, much to Peter’s relief, slept through the night. He was still asleep when Peter woke up Friday morning. Peter had a shower, shaved, and got dressed, all while keeping an ear out for mini-Neal, who didn’t emerge from his room. Peter popped his head in the guestroom around seven, but Neal was still fast asleep. He felt Neal’s forehead, but Neal didn’t seem overly warm, twitching away from his hand with a small pout. Peter smiled, and went downstairs to get breakfast ready. After the night he’d had, Neal deserved pancakes, Peter thought.

Neal trundled downstairs while Peter was frying up his own, rubbing at his eyes and trailing Mr. Whiskers behind him, Satch at his heels. “Peter?” 

“Good morning, Neal, how are you feeling?”

“I feel MUCH better Peter, really good!” Neal’s smile was wide and too innocent and very hopeful.

“Sorry, sport,” said Peter, watching the bright smile dim, and trying not to smile at how transparent Neal was--clearly he hadn’t yet learned subtlety--”I’m going to keep you home another day, but if you’re still feeling okay this afternoon, we’ll go get those paints, all right? Now, how do pancakes sound?”

Neal had started to look truly downcast at the idea of staying home another day--he’d taken to school like a duck to water, and he and El had all the numerous birthday party invitations to prove it. The idea of missing another day with all his little friends was something he wasn’t comfortable with. But he perked right up at the thought of pancakes, and Peter couldn’t blame him. He liked pancakes too, and Neal was the perfect excuse for them.

Elizabeth got back somewhere mid-afternoon, and Neal threw himself at her when she arrived, chattering a mile a minute and poking through all her stuff. But his fever was rising again and he’d developed a nasty-sounding cough, and so she gently but firmly herded him through lunch and then into a nap. While he was sleeping, she kissed Peter, rebuked him for having pancakes for breakfast (because apparently Neal had counted how many Peter had eaten and recounted the event to Elizabeth with wide, awestruck eyes, much to Peter’s chagrin), and told him she was going grocery shopping but wouldn’t be long.

Since the house was so quiet, Peter decided to take the opportunity to do some work, pulling out his laptop. About an hour into it, he realized he needed one of the files he’d left in the other box in the car, and so he went out back, rifling through the box in the trunk until he’d found the right one. Coming inside, humming under his breath, instinct made him pause. The house remained silent and nothing seemed amiss; nonetheless, he decided to go up to check on Neal.

Climbing the stairs, Peter poked his head into the guestroom--where Neal wasn’t. In fact, Neal was nowhere to be found. Neal wasn’t in the bathroom--although he clearly had been, there was vomit in the sink even if Neal hadn’t said anything--and he wasn’t in their bedroom. _Don’t panic, Burke,_ he told himself firmly. He was an FBI agent: he had stared down the barrel of a gun in the hands of a violent criminal; he could handle this. He headed back down into the living room, where Neal still wasn’t. The kitchen was empty, and a glance out the window revealed a yard with no Neal. Peter’s heart was racing, and he was starting to panic. Where could the kid have gone?

Then--there was a noise from Elizabeth’s office. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a cough. And then there was another. Peter walked quickly towards it, pulling back the sliding door.

He looked inside, and his heart nearly stopped. Neal was kneeling on the floor, with shattered glass all around him, Satch whining softly and pitifully. There was a smear of blood across the floor.

“Neal!” said Peter, making his voice calm and authoritative. “Don’t move.”

Neal looked up, his face white. “Peter! I’m--I’m sorry, I’m--it was my fault! Don’t hurt Satchmo, please!” He looked like he was going to get up, and Peter held up a hand. The boy froze.

“Neal,” said Peter slowly. “I want you to stay really still, okay?”

Neal nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, looking at Peter’s set face. “I’m sorry.”

Peter, who was still wearing his shoes, strode in and picked up the barefoot child, before herding Satch carefully out of the room.

“What happened, Neal?” he asked quietly, carrying the boy over to the kitchen. Now that Peter had calmed down a little, he could see that Neal had cut himself on some glass, but the cut wasn’t deep. He set Neal down on the counter, and told him to stay still while he quickly checked Satch over and went to get some water and a towel. He wiped off Neal’s feet and his hands, but thankfully, there was only the one cut, and he stuck a Goofy bandaid on it, much to Neal’s delight.

Then he plunked Neal down on the sofa, crouching in front of him. “Neal,” he said firmly, “What happened?” 

Neal looked down, and began poking at the fabric of the couch. “I--I know I’m not allowed into Elizabeth’s office--”

“You’re not,” said Peter sternly, his heart still racing. Neal, or Satch, could have been really hurt.

“It was my fault,” repeated Neal, looking up then. “You won’t hurt Satchmo, will you? Or--please don’t send him away! Please. He didn’t do anything. It was _my_ fault.”

“Neal, what did you do?” Peter’s voice was still stern, even though he wanted to catch Neal up and hug him until he squirmed, wanted to reassure himself that Neal was whole and safe, and as he refused to think about his need to do so.

“I--I broke it.” Neal’s voice was small and scared and remorseful.

“How did you break it?” Peter’s voice was unyielding.

“I looked into Elizabeth’s office,” said Neal miserably, looking moments away from tears, but Peter forced himself not to give in.

“Okay, and then what did you do?” Peter felt oddly like he was interviewing a nervous suspect, and tried to shake away the feeling.

“I wasn’t going to go in, I know I’m not supposed to. I--I just wanted to see, I just wanted to see what was there, I wasn’t going to go in, I wasn’t--” Neal was hiccuping now, which triggered a coughing jag, and Peter wasn’t sure if he could keep going. He was tempted to wait until Elizabeth came home, and let her deal with Neal, and then just give Neal ice cream later. But Elizabeth was ever complaining that he never disciplined Neal--and while enforcing consequence with adult Neal was one thing, Peter found it so difficult with this little version.

He rubbed Neal’s back to calm him down a bit, before asking again, “So how did the vase break, then?”

“I--I only looked for a moment, and I didn’t go in, I promise, but I didn’t close the door properly, and then I went to the bathroom and Satch got in, and by the time I got there, he was already inside, and then I went to go get him, but his tail hit the vase, it’s my fault, I’m sorry, he didn’t mean to--I tried to fix it, but it was too many pieces--”

And Neal was crying in earnest now, and Peter couldn’t take it anymore, giving in and picking Neal up, holding him close while walking over to the arm chair, settling himself down in the chair with Neal on his lap and making soothing noises until Neal’s sniffles died down.

“Neal, Neal listen to me,” he said firmly. “Next time there’s broken glass, anywhere, you are not to go near it, do you hear me? Not you, and not Satch. It’s really dangerous. I don’t care what it is or what happened, you don’t go near it, you stay away and get me or El, do you understand?” He looked into Neal’s blue eyes, waiting for agreement.

“Yes, Peter, I’m sorry,” said Neal, blue eyes still watery. “But don’t hurt Satch. You can punish me. I’ll get the belt. I’m sorry.”

“You’ll what?” Peter forced himself not to explode.

“Aren’t you going to punish me?” Neal looked confused. “I wasn’t supposed to--”

“Neal, what do you think is going to happen, here,” Peter demanded, his voice rough.

“I did something bad. You’re supposed to punish me. But because it was an accident you won’t use the buckle side?” Neal’s voice was both sad and hopeful on that last note.

“The buckle? He used the buckle?” Peter was going to look up this Uncle Craig the minute he got back to the office and if he wasn’t already in prison--Peter was going to make sure he got there.

“Uncle Craig says that’s the only way I’ll learn,” said Neal. “That I’m--I’m inco”.

“Incorrigible?” Peter struggled to hide a grin, even through his horror. That described Caffrey, all right, but for any man to take a belt to a young child--

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to be bad, Peter. I didn’t. I know I broke Elizabeth’s vase and she’s going to be mad. I’m sorry.” Neal sounded genuinely remorseful.

Peter couldn’t resist. He caught up the small boy in his arms and hugged him, kissing the top of his head until Neal squirmed away. Peter let him go. Hopefully, the curse would mean that adult Caffrey wouldn’t remember any of this, when he went back to normal. “Well,” he said, when Neal had finished squirming away and was looking up at him again, “you disobeyed, Neal, which isn’t the same as being bad, all right? And it was mostly an accident. I am upset, because you could have been hurt, but I will never, ever hit you, and certainly not with a belt, okay?”

“Okay.” Neal looked dubious. “You won’t hurt Satchmo instead, will you? It was my fault, and if you have to punish someone, you should punish me.” Peter wished Neal would stop saying that, as if Peter was some kind of monster to beat his own damn dog.

“No, Neal, I am not going to punish Satchmo. And it was a little bit his fault too.” But it was so like Caffrey to try to protect his friends, that Peter couldn’t help but be a little proud of the kid, too.

“I don’t mind if you punish me, Peter,” offered Neal. “I really don’t. I’ll learn, I promise.” And no wonder Peter had a hard time with this little Caffrey--he was just so _earnest_.

“I know you will, Neal,” said Peter, smiling.

Neal paused a moment, and then asked in another small voice. “Are you going to tell ‘Lizbeth?”

“It’s her vase, Neal. I’m going to have to,” said Peter gravely. “And she can choose your punishment. Does that sound fair?” 

Neal nodded, but he seemed sad again. “Yes, Peter. Can I go upstairs?”

“Sure, Neal. I’ll come get you for dinner.”

Elizabeth got home not ten minutes later, and Peter explained what had happened, still sitting on the couch, drained from the afternoon’s events.

And he’d thought adult Caffrey was exhausting.

Elizabeth looked thoughtful, before calling Neal downstairs. “Neal, can you come down here a minute?”

Neal came down with all the air of someone dragging himself to the gallows, stopping in front of Elizabeth. He took one look at Elizabeth’s face, and burst into tears.

“I--I--I’m sorry!” Normally, Peter would have thought he was playing him--but Neal was shivering. Even El couldn’t have held out against it--and suddenly, El was leaning down, gathering Neal up.

“Neal, sweetie, you need to talk to us. What’s going on?”

“I won’t do it again,” Neal sobbed. He sounded terrified. “You can punish me, it’s okay, I don’t mind.” It was back to that, thought Peter. It was almost like Neal wanted to be punished, and how did that make any sense? After all the drama, Peter just wanted to let it go.

“Shhhh,” soothed Elizabeth. “It’s okay, Neal.”

“Aren’t you going to punish me?” 

“We are," replied Elizabeth. "Go to your room. You’ll stay there until dinner.”

“But--” Neal looked confused again.

“Neal,” said Elizabeth. “That’s your punishment. Go now.”

Neal just looked at Peter and didn’t answer. Peter didn’t say anything. After a minute, the boy quietly went back upstairs.

****************************

“Neal,” said Elizabeth, poking her head into their former guest room a couple of hours later, “it’s time for dinner.” Neal was sitting on the floor, all the myriad stuffed animals he’d acquired in the past few months neatly arranged around him, and he was speaking to them quietly, quickly stopping when Elizabeth entered. She smiled at the scene, but his little face was serious, and he came quietly when Elizabeth summoned him.

At dinner, Neal was unusually quiet at dinner, and ate very little. To make up for it, Peter was awkwardly and forcibly cheerful, but neither Elizabeth nor Neal really bought into it. It didn’t matter. Most of the dinner conversation involved explaining to Neal their plans for the following day, because Elizabeth had a wedding to deal with, and Peter had unfortunately been called in--and after being off the last couple of days, he couldn’t really refuse to go in even on a Saturday. So Elizabeth carefully explained to Neal how he was going to spend the day with some friends, Diana and Christie, whom he had been friends with too when he was big.

Despite all Elizabeth’s efforts to make it seem like a fun outing, Neal greeted the news with fear and trepidation, asking careful questions and withdrawing even more no matter what answers were provided. After a few minutes of silence, Elizabeth forcibly changed the subject. But when Neal was clearly finished eating and Elizabeth announced it was time for bed, Neal became outright rebellious, throwing a minor temper tantrum and refusing to do much of anything. Fortunately, the episode was extremely brief, and then Neal was back to being the kid they knew, although he seemed somewhat miserable. Peter hovered as Elizabeth changed and bathed the boy, because Neal remained cranky and difficult to console. Chalking it up to his lingering illness, they both breathed a sigh of relief when, medicated and finally under the covers, Neal dropped off to sleep.

Elizabeth sat with Neal a while, and after a half hour, she joined Peter, seeming worried.

“El?” She was sitting in front of the mirror, brushing her hair and removing her makeup, but her forehead was deeply furrowed. 

She paused in her brushing, gesticulating with her hairbrush. “There’s something off about him. He’s--withdrawn, Peter, and was too easy this evening--he didn’t argue about what story to read him, or negotiate for anything. He just agreed with me.”

“He’s still sick--pretty sure that was why he left the door open for Satch, he had to run to the bathroom. Poor little guy. You think it’s something else?” Peter kissed her shoulder, taking the brush. Sometimes, he liked to do it for her.

“Maybe.” She sighed as he finished, putting the brush aside.

 “You think he’s up to something?” he asked as they settled down in the bed.

“I don’t know,” she replied, propping herself up on an elbow. “Can you ask Diana and Christie to keep an eye on him?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “El, you’ve met Diana. Do you really think I need to tell her?”

*********************

Neal had a restless night. He woke himself with coughing twice, and to the point of vomiting once. He also had nightmares, which persisted until Elizabeth and Peter finally just brought him into their bed, and let him sleep there until morning. Peter transferred him back to his own room when their alarm went off, letting him sleep while they got ready for work.

But despite all the earlier dramatics, by the time Peter and Elizabeth came to wake him, he seemed fine, and was already awake and half dressed. For some reason, though, he’d piled all of his stuffed animals--he had, for such a temporary child, quite the collection--onto his bed, and looked up guiltily when Peter and Elizabeth came in.

“Good morning,” he said cheerlessly but politely when he saw them. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and felt his forehead, but he seemed to be okay, only slightly warm.

“Morning, Neal!” tried Peter, back to the forced cheer as Neal squirmed away from Elizabeth. “Are you all ready for your visit today?”

Neal didn’t respond, and came downstairs easily enough. But he was sullen through breakfast, picking at his food, and then throwing part of it on the ground. The first time he did it, neither of them said anything, just picking it up and throwing it out. The second time he did it, Peter snapped.

“Damn it Neal! Stop it right now, or--”

“What are you going to do?” asked Neal. “Are you going to belt me _now_?” His tone was nasty.

Elizabeth put her hand over Peter’s, intervening. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Neal, but you will stop behaving like this right now. What will Diana and Christie think?”

“They won’t want me either,” said Neal, his tone still grating. “They’ll just send me back to you.”

“Eat your food,” said Peter, not knowing what else to say.

Once Elizabeth said he could leave the table, however, Neal became a whirlwind of frenetic activity. He raced through the house, looking at everything, getting everywhere. When Peter announced it was almost time to leave, he became even more manic. He hugged Satchmo, and then ran up to his room, and then ran back downstairs, before running up again. Satchmo, who thought it was some kind of game, followed him, barking happily as Neal ran around madly. It was making Peter dizzy.

“Neal!” he barked at the boy, “come here and settle down! It’s almost time to leave!”

“No!” called Neal. “I have to make sure Mr. Whiskers is okay first!”

“Neal,” said Peter, “you can do that later. Right now, I need you to come here and go to the bathroom, okay.”

“No!” yelled Neal. “I have to do this first!” Peter was somewhat bemused, this was the first time since they’d ended up with mini-Neal that he’d been truly defiant. Peter solved the issue by picking Neal up and putting him in the bathroom, taking away the stuffed bear.

“No!” said Neal, his voice high and near hysterical, grabbing for it. Not wanting to get into a tug of war with him, Peter gave the toy back.

“Look,” said Peter. “I just want to keep him safe for you, so you can use the bathroom. You trust me, right? I promise I’ll look after him, and he won’t get wet, and then you can have him back as soon as you pee,” said Peter.

Neal looked solemnly up at Peter, his eyes scrutinizing for a moment, and then he nodded. He handed back the somewhat scrunched toy to Peter reverently, with all the air of giving him a sacred trust, a treasure. Peter was sure Neal hadn’t even been so careful with some of the priceless artworks he’d once stolen.

Neal disappeared after the bathroom break as soon as his hands were washed and his pants in place, bear in hand. Car loaded and car seat in place ten minutes later, Peter and Elizabeth found him in his room again, and Elizabeth knelt down to say good-bye.

“Baby?” she said. “It’s time to go.”

“I know,” said Neal, “and I’m not a baby,” he added while trying to pick up all the stuffed animals he’d earlier piled on his bed unsuccessfully.

“Neal, you can’t take them all. You can take one. The rest have to be left here, all right?” said Elizabeth kindly, watching him try to hold them all. She removed them from his arms, and placed them back on the bed. “You can choose one, all right?”

Neal looked like he wanted to cry. But he looked back up at Elizabeth, and he only said “Okay”, quietly. He hugged the bear he’d been carrying around earlier, put him on the very top of the pile, before choosing a small pink cat.

“Good boy,” said Elizabeth, hugging him and shooting a slightly confused look at Peter, before hurrying downstairs. She was running late.

“Okay, bud, ready?” asked Peter, taking Neal’s hand. Neal was looking back at his room, as if he was memorizing the layout or something. (This was Caffrey, Peter reminded himself. Child-sized or no, he probably _was_ casing the joint, it was probably some instinctual thing.)

And then Neal let go of Peter’s hand and ran back into his room. “Neal,” groaned Peter. “We’re going to be late.”

But Neal was back and thrusting his brown teddy bear into Peter’s hands. “Please take good care of Mr. Whiskers--he doesn’t think I know, but he’s scared of the dark. Please?” Neal was all but begging, and still looked like he was going to cry. 

“Okay,” said Peter slowly, taking the bear, because what else was he supposed to do? “But you’ll be back before its night, so you can do that yourself, all right?”

“Just in case,” said Neal, as if he knew better, and Peter was just being stupid.

“Why didn’t you take Mr. Whiskers with you, then?” asked Peter, in a tone he felt was quite reasonable.

“Missy needs me more. She’s little, and she gets into trouble a lot,” said Neal seriously. “She doesn’t mean to, but she does, and sometimes, she cries later. She doesn’t have anyone else. I can’t leave her behind.”

Peter was at a loss. “Okay,” he agreed, not knowing what else to say.

****************************

Peter dropped Neal at Diana and Christie’s Soho condo. He was really glad that they’d agreed to sit Neal--even after they’d found out he was sick. Neal was a really sweet kid, and he kind of loved the little guy--but still, it had been a lot to take, the past few months and particularly the past few days. Not only was he behind at work, he and El had dinner plans; he was looking forward to a few Neal-free hours.

“Neal, be good for Diana and Christie, okay?” he said, as he brought in Neal along with a bag with a few of Neal’s things--his sippy cup, his stuffed kitty, a spare set of clothes, his antibiotics and so on. He’d already briefed Diana on Neal’s likes and dislikes--and Diana had spent enough time listening to Peter rant about Neal she already knew most of them anyway.

“Yes, Peter.” He flung his arms around Peter’s neck as Peter set him down. “Bye,” he whispered.

Peter hugged Neal back before letting go and placing both hands on his shoulders. “It won’t be for long, okay? You’ll have a lot of fun here, and I’ll be back before you know it. Be good, okay?”

Neal just nodded, silently, grasping his stuffed kitty with a death grip. He watched as Peter thanked Christie and Diana yet again for still being okay to take the possibly contagious Neal, told Christie and Diana he’d be back by nine at latest but to call if there were any problems, and something else Neal didn’t catch. He watched as Peter went out the door, and then held it open, even though it was heavy, watching as Peter waited for the elevator.

“So, Neal,” said Diana, catching the door herself above Neal before he hurt himself and trying not to be awkward, “are you hungry?” The trip to their place from the Burkes’ was long, she knew, and so she and Christie had made sure a kid-friendly lunch was ready when they arrived.

Neal shook his head, watching Peter as he got onto the elevator and waved at the boy. Neal didn’t wave back, just watched with large, sad eyes.

“Well,” said Christie, “I am, so we’re going to eat, okay?” They corralled Neal into the apartment, bolting the door behind him.

“Okay,” whispered Neal into their expectant gazes, nodding like he was scared to do otherwise. Diana frowned. Whatever she’d been expecting of mini-Caffrey, this hadn’t been it.

Neal didn’t eat much at lunch, even though Christie cajoled and enticed, but they knew Neal was just getting over pneumonia, and while Diana didn’t think that was the cause, she was willing to pretend and let it go. Eventually, they let Neal get up, as long as he took the milk into the other room to drink, telling him he could watch Thomas the Tank, which got a smile out of him. Peter wasn’t lying when he said the kid was addicted to the show.

But as Neal was walking with his milk he tripped. The sippy cup fell and broke apart, spilling on to the carpet. Neal was aghast. His face was white and he whispered, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please don’t tell, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

“It’s okay, Neal,” said Christie comfortingly. “I didn’t fix your cup properly, so it’s my fault, and I’ll clean it up. Who do you not want me to tell?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Christie,” he whispered. “I can do better. I’ll be more careful, I _promise_. Please don’t send me away too.”

“Neal, sweetie, it’s okay,” said Christie. “We’re going to play some games this afternoon, and then Peter’s going to come and get you after dinner. Don’t you want to go back home?”

Neal shook his head. “They don’t want me anymore. I threw up in his car, and I broke Elizabeth’s vase and I wouldn’t eat my dinner, and I was really bad, but he didn’t even punish me or anything. He said I was good and he was going to get me paints so I could draw for him, but he didn’t and so I didn’t even draw him anything. I thought if I didn’t, he’d have to keep me, but I think he just thought I wasn’t good and wasn’t going to. If I was smart, I’d have used crayons, but I wasn’t smart enough to do it, and so he won’t want me.”

Christie, who had a soft heart and no suspicion of Neal, miniature or not, almost had tears in her eyes as she listened to the heartbreaking speech, but Diana was made of sterner stuff, and was fairly convinced that Neal was trying to con her girlfriend.

Again.

“Neal, don’t be silly,” she cut in briskly. “Get up and go into the living room, and Christie will get you a dry pair of pants. I’m going to clean up the mess, and then I think it’s time for your pills and a nap, all right? Christie, how’s he doing?”

Christie, herding a damp Neal into the living room, pressed her hand to his forehead. “I think he’s fine, but it’s time for his nap anyway. Neal, how’re you feeling, sweetie?”

“I feel fine, Miss Christie,” said Neal, as if by rote.

Neal took his medication and settled for his nap without trouble, but woke up crying about a half hour later, and was inconsolable. Diana and Christie, who’d talked about having their own kids one day, were at the end of their rope--they cajoled, and soothed, and hugged and reassured, but Neal was having none of it, and wouldn’t stop crying.

_And finally the doorbell rang._

Both Christie and Diana breathed a sigh of relief as Diana answered the door for Peter, who took in the scene with a frown. “Neal? What’s going on?”

Neal took one look at Peter and his whole face lit up before he burst into fresh tears, launching himself at Peter, who instinctually swung him up into his arms, where Neal buried his face in Peter’s neck. “You came! You came!” Neal paused and pulled back, looking suddenly fearful. “Did--did you come for me?”

“Of course, Neal. I told you I’d come tonight by nine o’clock, and it’s only four o’clock now, see?” Peter adjusted his hold on Neal to allow Neal to look at him, but so he was still secure.

“Oh,” said Neal, in a small voice, sniffling. “Oh. I didn’t think--”

“Neal, I told you I would.” And Peter’s voice was firm and admonishing.

“I--I had a bad dream, Peter,” said Neal. “And I spilled my milk,” he added, as if confessing a great sin.

“That’s okay, buddy,” said Peter. “I bet Diana cleaned it all up, didn’t she?” He raised an eyebrow at Diana, wondering what the hell was going on. When Diana had called, he hadn’t really known what to expect, but from the looks of things, Neal had been really struggling. Elizabeth’s event was running late, and they wouldn’t have managed dinner anyway--not that letting Neal cry all night would ever be an option.

“I dreamed you wouldn’t come and get me, because I was bad cuz I throwed up in your car and didn’t make you a drawing and spilled my milk everywhere.” Neal’s voice was still small and guilty.

“Neal, don’t be silly. Remember what I told you. That wasn’t your fault, and accidents happen. That doesn’t make you bad, okay?”

“But I didn’t make you a drawing. You said I had to, and I didn’t. I forgot.”

“Neal, I didn’t say you had to. If you want to, you can--and I’d like it a lot it if you drew me something. But only if you want to and feel like it, okay?”

“So you don’t really need it?” asked Neal.

“I’d really like it, but there’s no requirement. I mean, Neal, that you don’t really have to if you don’t want to, okay? It won’t think you’re bad if you decide you don’t want to. I just thought it would be fun for you.” Peter looked as confused as Diana felt. She’d imagined young Caffrey much as the old one had been--a charming scamp. This little one, with his obsession about being good all the time, was a far cry from the man she’d known. Knew.

Peter was talking to her, so she paid attention. As he was talking, Christie packed up Neal’s things, handing him his stuffed pink kitty. Neal was now quiet, his head against Peter’s shoulder as Peter held it there with one large hand. She figured they’d been worried--for all Peter kept telling everyone the situation was temporary, he’d gotten to treating Caffrey like his own kid. He practically told stories at the office of whatever Neal had done in kindergarten these days.

She supposed it wasn’t that different, actually. Peter had always been absurdly proud of his people, and Caffrey was no exception. Even when he’d been an adult and a felon.

At least, that’s what she told herself as Peter hoisted the bag and then carried Neal, who was sucking the thumb of one hand and clutching the leg of his pink kitty with the other, out the door.

*************************

Neal was quiet during the elevator ride down, quiet as Peter strapped him into his car seat, and he fell asleep on the drive back, but he was visibly delighted to be back home. He remained subdued however, although he hugged Satchmo and Elizabeth and Peter, before going up to his room.

Dinner, however, was another matter. Neal continued to throw his food on the floor, to talk back, and to generally be ill mannered and badly behaved.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Neal, but you will stop behaving like this right now or I will send you to your room and you will not get a bath or a story tonight,” said Elizabeth firmly.

“Send me to my room, send me to my room. What if I don’t go?” yelled Neal.

“Then I’ll take you there and close the door,” replied Peter, bewildered, exchanging another glance with El. This Caffrey was a _brat_ \--and he’d always been perfectly behaved before. He didn’t understand. Maybe Neal was feeling sick again.

“That’s it, young man,” said Elizabeth. “You are finished eating, and you will go to your room now.” He’d barely eaten anything, but Peter agreed that tonight was a lost cause. “You will stay there until morning. I’ll be up in a bit to make sure you get ready for bed.”

“So you can punish me in the morning?” said Neal, his tone still nasty, sliding off the chair and throwing his napkin onto his plate.

“No, that will be your punishment. You can’t leave, you can’t watch TV, you can’t sit with Peter or I this evening. Go, wash your hands, and then straight to your room.”

“You’re a bitch!” cried Neal.

“Neal! Settle down right now, young man.” The words were, as usual, out of his mouth before he could think about it, and Peter winced once again at the thought that he was turning into _that_ guy. But gamely, he continued. “You do not talk to Elizabeth like that. Apologize.” His voice was sharp and commanding. The kind of voice that made grown adults-- _FBI agents_ \--quail before him.

It was lost on Neal. “I won’t,” Neal shouted back, defiant.

“You will,” said Peter firmly, “or you won’t be leaving your room. Now. Wash your hands, and go upstairs.”

“What am I supposed to do there?” said Neal, sounding sulky, and not really asking.

“Stay. Stay inside, until you are ready to apologize.” Peter forced his voice to be calm.

“I won’t. You should just belt me and get it over with.” He said it like he was testing, like he was negotiating.

“We’re not going to take a belt to you Neal. I told you already,” Peter said patiently.

“Did you even tell her about the vase? Did you? Or did you _lie_?” He put into his tone all the accusation a four year old could.

“Yes. I did,” said Peter clearly. “You were already punished for that.”

“I have toys in my room! You can’t punish me by sending me to where I want to go!” screamed Neal at the top of his lungs, panting for breath.

Peter looked at the crying boy, bewildered. Sharply, he wished for adult Caffrey--who didn’t cry and scream, who could be dealt with by a simple cowboy up. But even Peter knew you didn’t tell a sobbing four year old to cowboy up.

“And,” hiccupped Neal, “You can’t punish Satch when I’m not looking! Or give him away! He’s just a dog! He doesn’t have any place else to go! You _have_ to punish me!”

Elizabeth went up to Neal, who was red-faced and panting for breath, he was crying and screaming so hard, crouching down in front of him. She reached out her hands, and he flinched back hard. Peter could see in the tension in her frame how that affected her, but she didn’t let it phase her. Moving slowly, she took his hands in hers, for which Peter was grateful--the agitated state he was in, he wouldn’t put it past the kid to hit her at this point. “We’re looking after you right now. We get to punish you however we want, and if we want to send you to your room and let you play with your toys, we will, do you understand? We won’t hit you, Neal, and we won’t let anyone else hit you either. Nor will we hit Satch, got it?”

“But--” began Neal, and then his tone turned pleading as he spoke through his hiccups. “I don’t want you to give me away. Please, Please El’beth. Please. I want to stay. You don’t want to punish me, because you don’t think I can be any better, but I can, really. You _have_ to believe me.”

“Neal,” asked Elizabeth, “Why do you think we’d give you away? You’re not a -- a sandwich.”

“Because I’m not worth it. The kids that aren’t worth it, they don’t get to stay. They don’t even bother punishing them anymore, because that would be for their own good, and they’re not even good enough for that. Mozzie _said_. I want to stay. Please, I promise I’ll do better, you have to let me _try_. Diana and Christie are nice but--please. Please don’t give me away.”

Elizabeth’s face was horrified. “No,” said Elizabeth, and she scooped Neal up and held him close. “No, Neal. You’re ours now. You always have been. Big or small, no matter what you do, I promise: we’re _never_ giving you away.

********************************

It was much later when Neal, over-tired and overwrought and still not quite well--he’d developed this hoarse, annoying cough--finally fell asleep. They put him to sleep in his own bed, with a bath (the steam and hot water were good for him) but without a story, because El’s father had drilled consistent consequences into their head (Peter might have disagreed, but Elizabeth already thought he was too soft on Neal in all the wrong places), and they’d pretty much been sending him to his room all evening so letting him come to theirs wouldn’t work. But they sent him up after a number of reassurances and cuddles, and they both came up to his room to stay with him--Elizabeth lying beside him, Peter in a chair near his head holding his hand. Neal was clingy and tearful, and exhausted as he was, he kept waking himself up to check that they were still there. He delayed going back to sleep as well, asking once for water and another time to use the bathroom. The fifth time he sat up, he turned to Peter.

“Peter?”

“Yes Neal?” asked Peter patiently, looking up from the file he’d gotten on the last expedition for water.

Neal quickly looked down, before saying, “I didn’t really forget. That wasn’t the truth.”

“Oh?” He had no idea what Neal was talking about.

“I lied. I’m sorry. You forgot to get me the paints, so I didn’t remind you. I thought if I took a long time, you’d have to keep me a long time.” He looked at the bedspread, twisting the edge in his small hands, and wouldn’t look up at Peter.

Wow. Adult Neal thought nothing of a thousand dangerous lies; in child form, Neal worried about a single tiny one. “Well, it’s okay, Neal,” said Peter, trying not to smile at the clearly guilt-ridden kid, “It’s not good to lie, but you told me the truth now, so we won’t worry about it, okay? Lie back down now.”

“You’re not mad?” he asked doubtfully.

“No, Neal. It’s not your job to remind me, it was my job to remember. The deal was that you’d make me the drawing once I got you the paints--and I didn’t do that. So don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll try to get the paints tomorrow, and you can take as long as you want to make the drawings. But you have to remember that I’ll always want one more, so I’ll have to keep you around for a long time, anyway.” Peter smiled, and Neal’s anxious expression smoothed out into a tentative smile of his own, before he frowned again.

“What if you don’t like it? What if I make one and you don’t like it?”

“I promise you I’ll love it, Neal.” And Peter knew he would--Neal was too young to know how to forge anything yet. “Now you have to lie down and go to sleep, all right? I’ll tell you a secret: I’m going to get El to make us blueberry waffles for breakfast tomorrow--but I can only do that if you go to sleep first!” Behind Neal, he could see El smiling, and he knew he’d gotten it right.

And now the smile blossomed into a full blown Caffrey special, and Peter felt a warm sense of self-satisfaction and pride--he’d gotten it right. For a change, he’d gotten it right. Neal actually fell asleep quickly after that. The confession had clearly lightened his conscience--even if it wasn’t long before the nightmares came, when Neal woke up screaming and crying. Elizabeth hugged him to her and cuddled him until he fell asleep again, and it didn’t really take long, but neither of them were prepared to leave him, and Elizabeth was still against taking him to their room--she worried about precedents and bad habits, and Peter knew he should too. In the end, Peter squeezed himself on to the bed as well--at least it was a double--and fell asleep himself.

Neal slept through the rest of the night until morning.

********************************************************

Peter woke with the sunshine bright on his face, and the sound of Neal and Elizabeth breathing--in Neal’s case snoring the whuffling snore of the congested child--beside him. He was cramped from his position on the too-small bed, he was still in his jeans, and Neal had drooled all over his arm. Peter grinned.

It was a beautiful new day.

And they were going to have _waffles_.

************************************

( _End! There will be a third part, but clearly I have not written that yet ..._ )  
 


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